Survival
by fandombloggingaddict
Summary: The hitter is always willing to bleed for the team, but it'll take more than his usual artillery of fists and threats to make it through this fight. There's no getting out of this one without taking a serious hit. He does. - Eliot comes home to the team being held, sure to die unless he complies. This man wanted too much, but he'd give it all for them. Warnings: violence, non con
1. Chapter 1

He felt like a single mom, trying to open doors and get up the stairs, his arms being preoccupied with carrying the four grocery bags he'd just bought. The damn elevator was shot, despite Hardison's attempts to reboot it earlier that day. Eliot huffed. Maybe the hacker would get more exercise now with the stairs being his only option; well, he wasn't in dire need of a workout, per say, as the hitter had him and Parker in strict fighting training, but it was always good to be active.

Speaking of, he wasn't exactly out of breath by the time he reached the apartment, but he was gonna have to get inside quickly enough to set down the bags before he dropped them in the hallway. Damn Hardison and his orange soda addiction. He wouldn't get a chance to secure the building before lockup downstairs if he didn't put the groceries away quickly enough, and he definitely wouldn't if Parker decided to block his way in favor of pestering him about why he didn't buy 100 bottles of chocolate syrup like she'd asked.

Gee, he may as well have been a mom.

Shaking his head at the thought of the pair's antics, he bumped into the door to open it, seeing that it was left open.

He froze once he stepped inside, the door slowly swinging back until it clicked closed. His eyes darted around the room at the dozen or so men in dark casual dress, high-laced boots, dark gloves, and staid composure. Not to mention the gun each held, four standing behind and aiming at a member of his team, the rest aiming at him. Parker, Hardison, Sophie, and Nate, in order left to right, knelt with their hands apparently restrained behind their backs and black cloths gagging them. Nate had a black eye, Parker worried a split lip, and Hardison looked like his right arm hurt, probably a dislocated shoulder.

The hitter growled.

"Easy, champ, one wrong move and your friends' brains make some pretty art of the walls." The man out of uniform, without a gun and taking a step toward the hitter, wore a smugly victorious smirk. "Just set the bags down and don't bite while I check you for weapons."

Eliot narrowed his eyes but did as he was told. He set the groceries down by the door and turned to face the evident leader of the group. The intruder strode across the room to face the tense man. He began to run his hands across his body in search of a weapon and continued as he moved behind the hitter. Once he was done, he immediately wrapped his arm around the shorter man's neck in a choke hold, his other arm providing leverage for his grip. Eliot's hands instinctively grabbed for the arm strangling him, but he stopped when the armed men instantly cocked their weapons. His hands remained in a loose grip as the man held him to effectively cut off his air. Eliot tried to gasp but there was no way to. He didn't resist, just snarled and waited.

The man chuckled darkly as the hitter stilled his small resistance. He tilted his head forward and whispered into his ear, "Oh, what fun we'll have."

He continued to strangle the hitter, amused by his small jerks as he forced his oxygen-deprived body not to fight back. Finally Eliot was about to pass out, letting loose a grunt and tightening his clutch on the man's arm. The man sighed and let go. Eliot stumbled forward a bit and held his neck, gasping and coughing. He straightened the moment he could breathe again, facing his attacker and resisting the urge to cough more. This wasn't the time for such a luxury.

"You're not gonna escape me again, Spencer, not before I'm through with you." He moved to him and grabbed his jaw. "And don't think I'll leave you with your dignity this time." Releasing him, he punched him in the face. Eliot's head swung with the hit. Before he turned it back, another landed in his gut. He took a jerky step back but otherwise granted neither reaction nor response. The man continued to punch and kick him until he paused to stand back and admire his work.

The hitter was still standing, facing the man defiantly, but not without drawbacks. His face was bruised and his split lip bleeding. He favored his left side, where the man's right hook had broken a rib or two, and the kicks had dealt the rest of the damaging blows to his chest. The shorter man's breath rattled a bit but he flicked his long hair back and waited again. He'd been pushed back toward the trussed-up team, so he was only a few feet from them now. He never looked back at them, but they knew that they were his main concern and he knew exactly how they'd react to all of this, so they did him a favor by remaining still and quiet. This wasn't about conning or fighting their way out of it.

This was a war of attrition.

This was survival.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't hard to take the beating. Eliot Spencer had received more hits in his life than he could ever deal to others. Still, he'd never made such a statement to anyone, not even to Amy back at the ranch all those years ago. One of his biggest assets was indeed being so well-rounded, wise, and eloquent, but he understood that actions do speak louder than words. That's why what he was doing now, what he'd continue to do while protecting them from these men and their guns, spoke so deeply and heavily of his love for them. What else could change a man that at one time came to believe that survival was only possible by killing everyone around him, eliminating every potential threat? What else could make the most focused, prepared individual let slide each liability they presented, endangering him in ways any other hitter would never allow? What, other than love, could make the most staid and steadfast fighter alive lay down his arms and take every pain presented to him, without a second thought?

Sophie and Hardison, the bleeding hearts, couldn't believe that fierce a loyalty without shedding a tear; Parker was, for once, solemnly resigned, having been trained by Eliot, while Nate thought he had a pretty good idea of how Eliot's mind worked. They all tried to reason a way around what was happening from the start, sought a way out or something that could end this.

Their hitter had no doubts, though. He knew how many men, gauged their training, recognized the makes and models of the guns, considered the comments and threats. He knew that their was no way out, not like this. He'd never endanger the team for anything, so whatever this man did, it was an acceptable measure to protect them.

Eliot Spencer was ready to die for them. Joining this team for good was like joining the army or getting into the business of the criminal underworld; the second you enter that world, you're making a deal and signing in blood. With all of these deals, he swore that he'd give his life for his people. This was the first deal that he'd made wholly willingly, and he was more that prepared to give them everything. It was decided, secured, fact. He believed that these were the most precious people in the world with everything he was.

No room for pride in a deal like that.

When the man was done beating him, he tried to knock out Eliot's knee from behind to force him to his knees, but the hitter easily locked it and held his stance. Finally the man just grabbed the gun from the guard nearest him and smashed it into the bloodied man's head. Eliot fell clutching his bleeding head and looked up. The gun was returned and Eliot was forced onto his knees, facing the team, feet from them. He dauntlessly met their gazes. They were scared, worried. The charismatic southerner let the calm radiate from how he held himself, ignoring the pain. His eyes showed a determination that they knew well. He may not have a plan yet, but he wasn't afraid. He wasn't hurt, not really. He was trained to handle this pain. He was happy to face it as long as it kept them safe, and they were comforted by this, not for themselves, but knowing that he would never let them get hurt, so his heart couldn't be broken. They'd get through this just fine.

Of course, the methodical hitter didn't really believe that, but his take on the situation's tactical disadvantages was not what they needed.

The man walked around to face the hitter. He contemplated the defiant specialist.

"You know, ever since you escaped me, I've been thinking about this day, when I'd get my hands back on you. You were the best learner, El, how good you were!" He moved forward and patted his head, running a hand through his long hair. Eliot didn't move an inch. "Oh, come on now. We had some fun!" He turned around and addressed the crew. "You know, when he was a kid, fresh out of the army, he started taking odd jobs for money, but I suspect that over a few months they all took on the same idea: kill, capture, neutralize. He was in it for the pay, but boy, was he sloppy! He had no idea what he was getting into. He thought his formal training had prepared him, that he could never see anything worse than a war. That's about when he was captured himself, an order issued by a gentleman whose feathers he'd ruffled in his dealings. Didn't do a very clean job. Said gentleman was happy to sell him to me." The man smiled back at Eliot, who never averted his eyes from the back wall. The man walked to his side and crouched down. He grabbed a fistful of Eliot's hair and wrenched his head back, forcing him to make eye contact with his holder. "I'd taken a special interest in him and wanted to show him the ropes of his trade. It's so revolting to me when people abuse our trade. He crossed a boundary, and I wanted to show him what he was getting into. I did have to break him, of course, a harder task than you'd think, with this one." His fist tightened. "Lessons in pain, fear, abandon, loss, shame... it was such fun." Now he leaned in more, so close to his face. "You were so young and... pretty." He let his other hand trail faintly, with feather-light touch, down the back of the hitters neck, and the beaten man shivered subtly. He maintained eye contact.

"Don't worry, dear, I'll have you again. I marked you as mine." He pulled Eliot back a bit by yanking his hair again, the hitter's neck bared. "You are mine, no matter what. Say it."

Eliot paused just long enough for the man to growl and give a gesture for the men to shoot one of the team. The gun was cocked with a sickening click.

"I'm yours."

The man held up his hand to stay his employee before a hostage was killed.

"What was that?"

"I'm yours, Silverman. Always have been, always will. I belong to you alone." Spencer's deep rumble as he said this was just what he needed to appease him. He wasn't citing empty forced phrases. This was what it would take.

"Prove it."


End file.
